Portrait Of The Reformer As A Young Man

By Rich Shea

There's no mistaking the message. Taped at eye level to the front door, it reads: "Visitors, please sign in." As Bill Wetzel enters the building, he smiles and says, "For the moment, we're illiterate." This claim is far from true—the 20-year-old Wetzel practically devours books—but no matter. We soon slip past a handful of students and teachers and into an empty stairwell. It's 9 a.m., June 1, 2000, and we've infiltrated Middletown High School North.

When he's excited, Wetzel doesn't shout or pump his fist; he simply opens his clam-shaped, hazel eyes wide. Right now, they're as big as the lenses of his wire-rimmed glasses. "Maybe it's upstairs," he says, referring to the computer lab, or the library, or the cafeteria-any place where teenagers gather and gossip. But after bounding up the stairwell, we find only classrooms, where many students are out of their seats. "You can tell the period's about to end," Wetzel whispers. "They're anxiously waiting near the doors."

We wait, too. The hallway is narrow and dimly lit. Paint flakes off the walls, and some ceiling tiles are missing. The bell rings, finally, and teenagers spill from the classrooms, leaving barely enough room for Wetzel to weave his way down the hall. Sporting a Jansport backpack and unruly brown hair, he looks like a high school student, but he's not here to learn. He's...